Damage Control
by Alasse Faelivrin
Summary: picks up where the series finale left off


**Title: Damage Control**

**A Star Trek Enterprise Fic**

Author: Bounty

**Category: is denial a category?**

**Pairing: Trip/T'Pol**

**Spoilers: all**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: Picking up where the Star Trek Enterprise finale left off. Yes, this is the Denial Fic. Hey – do you believe everything you see in a holodeck?**

**Author's note: Hugs to Tricia for the beta and all my Jackfic friends who are tolerating my backsliding into Trekkiness. And to Kendra who's responsible for the whole thing w/ her Time video.**

**Disclaimer: Star Trek is the property of Paramount Pictures.**

The cemetery was cool and quiet in the early morning air. Drops of frosty dew still perched on the grass, giving the ground a misty ethereal look in the early dawn light. The air was still, not so much as a hint of bird song. T'Pol knelt, unmindful of the wet grass, in front of two tombstones. The newer one, the grave of Charles Tucker III, was just covered with a light sprinkling of new grass. She rested her hand briefly against the shiny three month old stone; head bowed, and then turned to the other.

Six years older, it had a healthy thick coat of grass and a more weathered stone. She spoke the inscription softly to herself, her breath making white puffs in the cool air.

_Elizabeth Tucker_

_A bridge between worlds._

Trip had chosen what to put on the headstone. He'd also had carved under the words the Vulcan IDIC.

She traced the intertwined circle and triangle with her finger, blinking hard as her eyes misted.

"T'Pol?"

She turned to see an older couple walking toward her. Rising, she attempted to brush off her knees, succeeding only in making the wet spots worse.

"Mr. and Mrs. Tucker," she responded formally.

"Call me Charlie," the man said, extending his hand. She hastily wiped hers on her shirt before reaching out to shake his.

"I'm Margaret," the woman said softly. She stepped forward and kissed T'Pol lightly on the cheek. Petite and a blonde-gone-grey, Margaret Tucker had Trip's pale blue eyes.

"Thank you for meeting us here so early," Charlie said. "We keep managing to miss each other."

"Jonathan told us you wanted to meet us," Margaret added, "but had to ship out before the memorial."

T'Pol reached down and picked up the case she'd brought. "I didn't have a chance to give this to Admiral Archer before I left," she said apologetically. "These are Trip's belongings from the Enterprise." She handed the case to Margaret, biting her lip. "I've held back a couple of things for myself, I hope you don't mind." She'd kept the Frankenstein doll and one uniform on which she could still smell his scent.

"Trip spoke of you often in his letters home," Margaret said, her voice breaking. "He was very grateful for your friendship."

"He was very special to me," T'Pol said softly. She drew a deep breath. "I miss him."

Margaret nodded wordlessly, tears trickling down her cheeks. Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He sighed. "We need to get going," he said. "Our flight is in less than an hour."

"My ship was delayed returning," T'Pol said regretfully. "Engine trouble."

"Sounds like you could have used Trip," Charlie said with sad smile.

T'Pol acknowledged his words with the barest hint of smile.

"We must get together again," he said, shaking her hand once more. "Speak more about Trip," he eyed the other grave, "and our granddaughter," he added softly.

T'Pol nodded. "I'd like that."

"Are you going to be on Earth for awhile?" Margaret asked. "While your ship is repaired?"

"No," T'Pol answered, surprising herself as she said the words. "I'm going home to Vulcan."

Charlie and Margaret said their farewells and she watched them walk away across the grass. She looked back down at the graves. As she gazed at them the grass seemed to melt away to swirling orange dust. She heard Trip's voice in the back of her head as she repeated her words.

"I'm going to Vulcan."

T'Pol walked aimlessly through the streets of Shi'Kahr. She still was not sure just why she'd come to Vulcan. With almost a month's leave before her new ship was refitted yet again, she supposed it was the logical thing to do. She knew she should stop in and see some of her mother's friends, but her feet just kept her wandering through the city.

"Vulcan lady!" A very un-vulcan sounding child's voice made her turn. A bluish white shape danced in front of her and whirled around the corner. T'Pol stared, not sure she should believe what her eyes had just seen. Slowly she turned the corner, and stopped.

A little Andorian girl stood in front of her laughing. "I'm fast," the child said proudly. "No one can catch me ever again."

"Talla?" T'Pol asked incredulously.

The child clapped in delight and spun around lightly on her feet. "You remembered me!"

T'Pol swallowed hard as she looked at the little girl. Her daughter would have been just a year older if she had lived. She pictured her standing there in front of her, looking at her with Trip's eyes framed by a head of light brown hair. Her eyes misted and she blinked rapidly.

Now that she thought of it, it had been when she'd knelt there in front of her daughter's grave, that she'd first felt the urge to return to Vulcan. As if Trip and Elizabeth were both telling her to go…

She felt pressure on her hand and looked down to see Talla standing next to her with her small fingers wrapped around T'Pol's. Her small pale blue face was anxious. "Are you alright, Vulcan lady?"

T'Pol knelt in front on her and looked up into her colorless eyes. "I'm fine," she said gently. "Where's your father?"

"Talla!" Shran rounded the corner with impressive speed and came to a stop next to them. "How many times," he panted, "have I to tell you not to run off by yourself?"

"I founded her, Daddy," Talla said proudly, oblivious to her father's concern.

Having caught his breath, Shran shook his head and smiled. "Yes, you did," he said, "Now please don't tell your mother you did it by yourself." He rolled his eyes at T'Pol. "Children."

"What are you doing here?" T'Pol asked, rising to meet the Andorian's gaze levelly.

Shran chuckled. "Who would have ever thought there'd be an Andorian embassy on this ball of dust, eh? I've got a friend of a friend of a friend…" he gestured vaguely. "My house is this way, and I've got a guest who's very eager to see you."

"This way, this way!" Talla tugged at T'Pol's hand, leading her down the street.

They came to a small one level house in the embassy quarter, the various cacti and decorations outside proclaiming the inhabitants were not Vulcan.

Inside the arched doorway, Shran sighed at the relative coolness inside. "Go find your mother," he told Talla, giving her a little push. The girl scampered off.

"Commander," he called, "You have company."

A man walking slowly and leaning on a cane came through the archway ahead of them. T'Pol gasped.

"Trip!"

Trip straightened and smiled at her, tossing the cane to the side. Above the collar of his grey tunic she could see the fading burns on his neck and jaw. "Did you miss me?" he asked in a hoarse raspy voice.

Logic told her that this couldn't be Trip but their bond, stagnant for years, told her it was. She crossed the gap between then in two steps. Reaching up she traced her fingers along his jaw line, touched the burn scars on his neck and the short hair where singed ends had been clipped. "How?" she asked, "What…"

"Shhh." Trip grasped her hand, squeezed it tightly. "Later. You didn't answer my question."

She met his hazel eyes with her darker ones. "Yes," she said quietly. "I missed you." Pulling her hand free, she reached back up and drew his head down to hers. She kissed him, slowly and tenderly. His arms wrapped around her back and pulled her close.

"That was worth the wait," he murmured as their lips parted. She laid her head against his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath her. He rested his cheek against her hair, continuing to hold her tightly.

After a moment his breathing grew harsher in her ear, and he leaned heavily against her. "I need to sit down," he whispered.

Lifting her head, she grasped him around the waist and guided him to the nearest chair, a functional hard square that someone had artfully draped a gossamer throw blanket across.

Trip sank into the chair and she sat next to him, watching him anxiously. His face had paled considerably and he seemed to be shivering, though the room was very warm by human standards. She wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, smoothing down the soft silky material.

"Sorry," he whispered, and then bent over coughing convulsively, thick wheezing coughs. Unsure what to do, T'Pol placed her hand on his back. She looked around for Shran, but he was gone, leaving them to their privacy.

"Commander," called a concerned female voice from the doorway. A woman with white hair and skin hurried into the room and knelt beside Trip, a cup in her hands. She lifted it to his lips and held it steady while he drank. As the cough slowed he took the cup from her and with a grimace drained it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he handed it back.

"Thanks Jhamel," he whispered.

Jhamel rested her hand against his forehead for a second. "You are feverish again," she scolded. "What has Dr Phlox told you about exerting yourself?"

"Not to." Trip smiled sheepishly at her.

"It was most likely my fault," T'Pol said quickly.

"Commander T'Pol," Jhamel inclined her head formally. In the six years since T'Pol had seen the Aenar she didn't appear to have aged a day. Deceptively fragile looking, Jhamel had possessed the mental strength to fend off a Romulan attack. "You are most welcome here, but do not blame yourself. Commander Tucker knows full well what his limitations are." She turned back to Trip. "You will stay here and rest for awhile; Shran will assist you back to your chamber."

"I can help him," T'Pol said quietly.

Jhamel nodded. "Thank you." She swept out of the room.

"That is one tough nurse," Trip muttered. "And I've been trying for weeks to get her to call me Trip."

"She seems to think you should not be out of bed," T'Pol pointed out.

"Yeah," Trip sighed. "I'm a lousy patient. But I'm going stir crazy. I just walk a few feet and I get all short of breath," he continued disgustedly.

"Trip!" Talla' singsong voice preceded her dash into the room. She danced over to Trip and grabbed his hand. "I founded the Vulcan lady." She beamed at T'Pol.

"You sure did, darlin'," Trip chuckled. "Thank you."

Talla lowered her voice. "Mummy says Daddy shouldn't have told you where we were going. She said you got too exciteded."

"Sounds like your Daddy might be in some trouble," Trip answered gravely.

The girl giggled conspiratorially. "I have to go do my school work now," she said. "But after that, Mummy says I can come read to you, if you want."

"That would be great, darlin'." Trip ruffled her hair and watched wistfully as she scampered away. "You know," he said softly, "Elizabeth would have been about her age."

T'Pol swallowed hard. "I thought the same thing when I first saw her," she admitted. Abruptly she stood. "We'd better get you back to your room."

She slid her arms under his and lifted him to his feet. He rested his head against her shoulder for a minute. "My legs are like jelly," he grumbled. "I hope I'm not too heavy for you."

"I'm a Vulcan," she reminded him.

"As if I could forget."

They walked through the archway to a small room at the back of the house. The room was functional, like the living room, with a bed and nightstand and another of the squarish chairs in the corner. Around the room there were a few Andorian touches; a lacy white blanket on the bed and a vase of wild flowers on the windowsill that had seen better days.

"Talla picked those for me last week," Trip explained, noticing her look. "Haven't had the heart to let Jhamel throw them away."

She eased him down on the bed and covered him with the white blanket. "I gotta talk to Phlox about getting me something more manly," he groused, plucking at the white lace.

"Phlox is here?" T'Pol asked.

"He's doing some sort of research at the academy, in between torturing me." Trip sighed. "He's having a wonderful time, making me sleep about twenty hours a day."

T'Pol's mouth quirked. "Perhaps making up for the average of two hours you used to sleep on Enterprise," she said dryly.

Trip grinned. "Except when you were giving me neuropressure," he said.

"So Phlox took you off of the ship?" she prompted.

He shook his head. "Shran did. Phlox caught up with him later. Jhamel's folks have a way to regenerate lung tissue. Shran convinced Phlox to put me in stasis and let him take me to them. Apparently he thinks he owes me something," Trip shrugged.

"You did save his life," T'Pol pointed out. "And his daughter's."

Trip looked uncomfortable. "I don't remember any of it," he confessed. "One minute I was drinking whiskey with Cap'n Archer, and then next thing I know I'm in a really cold bed surrounded by all these ladies in white. Figured it was too chilly to be hell," he grinned. "But I don't really remember much of that either, I was pretty out of it most of the time we were on Andoria. Once the process started working, the cold was interfering with healing, so Phlox and Shran brought me here."

"Why didn't Phlox tell anyone what he was doing?" she asked.

"You'll have to ask him that," Trip broke off and started to cough again.

"You should stop talking," T'Pol said worriedly. "Do you need more of the medicine Jhamel gave you?"

He made a face. "Horrible tasting stuff," he gasped. "Kills the cough but it makes me sleepy. Look, it's stopping."

His cough slowed but his voice was reduced to no more than a whisper.

"Rest then," she said softly.

"Mmhmm." His eyes were already drifting shut. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back and watched as he slipped into sleep.

She brushed hair off his forehead and ran her fingers lightly across his temples, reaching for their old connection. It was faint but still there. She could feel the dull pain he felt with each breath, that he hardly noticed anymore. She didn't push further; letting her hand drop she watched him sleep.

"Commander T'Pol?" Jhamel was standing quietly in the door. "If you'd like to join us, I made some tea. He will sleep for several hours," she added, gesturing at Trip.

She followed the other woman into the kitchen. The room appeared freshly scrubbed and skylights were uncovered to let in the bright sun. An aroma of pungent tea filled the air. The center of the room held an iron table. Shran and Phlox were seated there with thick ceramic mugs in front of them. Talla sat at the other end, legs swinging as she worked on her epad.

Shran and Phlox looked up as the women entered the room. Smiling widely, Phlox rose to greet her with an embrace. "It's been a long time, Commander," he said.

"It's been three months," she informed him stiffly. "And you have quite a bit of explaining to do, Doctor."

Phlox sighed. "Please sit down."

T'Pol sat and allowed Jhamel to pour her a mug tea. She took one sip and then looked at Phlox expectantly.

"It will take some time," he told her brightly, "but I expect Commander Tucker to make a full recovery."

"If that is true, why did you let us think he was dead?" she demanded.

Phlox leaned back in his chair and looked over at Shran apologetically. "To be honest, I highly doubted the treatment would work," he said apologetically. "I felt there was nothing to lose by letting Shran take him, but was fairly certain that by the time I arrived on Andoria I would find him dead."

"The regeneration treatment almost didn't work," Shran nodded in acknowledgment of Phlox's apology.

"At the beginning," Phlox continued, "it was mere damage control – preserving what remained of his lung tissue. It wasn't till more than a month later that we started to see new cell growth."

"The treatments were designed to treat a form of internal frostbite contracted in the ice mines," Jhamel explained. "Burns, but of a different sort."

"The regeneration has been slow, but consistent," Phlox said. "It will be several weeks yet before he reaches a normal lung volume. The cold and damp on Andoria were making him more susceptible to infection, so I brought him here and he's responded well to the hot, dry air."

"He had a fever this morning, Doctor," Jhamel said. "And again just awhile ago." She glanced at T'Pol and looked quickly away.

Phlox grinned knowingly. "Not unexpected," he said. "I suppose that means it's time to check on my patient." He pushed back from the table and rose.

T'Pol and Jhamel followed him into Trip's room. Phlox waved his med scanner over the sleeping man and nodded at the results. "Only a low grade fever now," he said. "But it will be worse in the night; fevers always are."

He injected a hypospray into his patient's arm; Trip stirred slightly but didn't wake. "Tri-ox," he explained at T'Pol's questioning look. "I'm administering steady doses, as well as antivirals, and the Andorian medicine Jhamel's been giving him."

He set the hypo down on the bedside table. "Keep medicating him," he said to Jhamel. "Call me if you need anything."

The Aenar inclined her head.

Phlox turned to T'Pol with a smile. "It's lovely to see you again Commander."

"Doctor," she acknowledged.

His smile widened. "Well you're speaking to me, that's a start." He disappeared down the hall, calling out goodbyes to Shran.

T'Pol looked down at Trip's sleeping form. Quiet and still was so unlike Trip, she had to resist the urge to reach out and shake him.

"He looks so peaceful, doesn't he?" Jhamel said, echoing her thoughts. "When he's asleep."

"Humans generally do," T'Pol said dryly. Jhamel smiled.

T'Pol tossed restlessly on the bed in the small room the Andorians had convinced her to stay in. Actually as Shran had already had her things brought there, not much convincing was needed. She'd set the Frankenstein by Trip's bed for him to find when he finally awoke, and retired early.

Turning on her side she dozed in the half-animated state between asleep and awake. She was aware of her surroundings, but also of a faint dream beginning. The dream soon turned to a nightmare; she was being held down on the floor and something was crushing her chest. She struggled against her tormentor, gasping for breath.

She woke with a start, lay still for a moment catching her breath, then rolled to her feet and padded quickly across the hall to Trip's room.

Jhamel was bending over him, trying to apply an oxygen canula, and he was fighting her as hard as he could.

"Let me," T'Pol said quietly, coming up behind the other woman. Jhamel looked startled, but stepped aside. T'Pol sat on the bed and grasped Trip's shoulders.

"Trip," she said firmly. "Stop it."

His eyes focused on her and widened. He stopped struggling. "I can't breathe," he whispered, panting hard. She heard high pitched wheezes coming from his throat and his lips were tinged blue.

"Yes you can," she told him. "You are. Just control it." She pressed her fingers gently against his collarbone, keeping her eyes locked on his. "In, out," she said, pressing down with each word. "In, out."

Gradually his breathing slowed and deepened and the desperation in his eyes faded. She released his shoulders and helped him to sit. Jhamel handed her more pillows to put behind his back, and placed the oxygen in his nose.

After an injection of Tri-ox his lips regained their color, though his face was still pale.

"Better?" T'Pol asked, placing the hypo back on the table. He nodded and gripped her hand silently. She could still hear some wheezes as well as a faint crackling sound. Jhamel appeared at her side again, holding a cup.

Trip's eyes widened. "No," he protested. "I just woke up."

"Leave it on the table," T'Pol said to her quietly, "I'll make sure he drinks it."

She stilled his protests with a sharp glare and with a sigh he sank back on the pillows. Jhamel left them alone and T'Pol busied herself with straightening the blankets, giving him a moment. She looked up to see him staring in amazement at the Frankenstein doll sitting on the table next to his glass.

"Where did that come from?" He asked, reaching for it. He wiggled the arms and chuckled softly. The chuckle turned into a cough that he quickly suppressed, glancing at her to see if she noticed.

"It's yours," she answered.

"I know that. How did it get here?"

"I was packing your things," she told him. "For your parents. And I kept it." She bit her lip. "You should have it back."

Trip continued to stare intently at the doll, twisting parts of it in his hands. "You met my parents?"

"Admiral Archer arranged for us to meet."

"Admiral… oh yeah that's right, Phlox told me," he smiled. "He deserves it. So how were they?"

"They were very kind."

"No. How were they?"

"Sad," she said quietly. "Proud of you, but sad."

He lowered the doll to his lap. "I never meant to hurt them."

"You haven't sent a message to them," she said slowly, "And you don't plan to."

"I don't know," he ran his hand thru his hair. "It's complicated."

"Yet you were planning to send a message to me. Why?"

"That was Phlox's idea."

She raised an eyebrow.

He picked up the cup, drained the contents, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set the cup down again carefully. "It's still there, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"Don't play dumb," he looked at her steadily. "Why did you come to Vulcan? Why did you come in here just now?"

"Yes," she said softly. "The bond is still there."

"Then you know why." He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. "I promised you we wouldn't lose touch."

T'Pol set down her tea cup and leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the window. She'd intended to take a walk to the academy to pay her respects to her mother's friends, and instead found herself in this tiny tearoom near the Earth embassy.

She allowed herself a moment to think of T'Les, and wonder what she would say if she were here. Meeting Margaret Tucker had made her think of her mother more frequently over the last few weeks; made her miss her more than she had expressed to Archer. T'Les had seemed to warm to Trip after initially greeting him icily all those years ago. Admittedly she had warmed to him after he had fixed her stasis chamber, but still…

T'Pol sighed and took a sip of tea. The truth of the matter was, she admitted her herself, picturing her mother sitting across from her waiting expectantly, that she had no desire to return to Starfleet. She'd been stalling for days in preparing to return, her ship was going to be leaving spacedock without her at this rate. And yet, she didn't really want to stay on Vulcan either, not return to the high command as her mother had wanted. She wondered what T'Les would have thought of the dissolution of her marriage to Koss, of the half-human grandchild she'd never known.

"May I join you?"

T'Pol jumped, splashing tea onto the table. She recovered quickly as she looked up to see Ambassador Soval standing beside her.

Gesturing to the empty seat with a raised eyebrow, she said "You've been around humans too long, Ambassador."

Soval raised his own eyebrow in response. "You're hardly in a position to make that accusation, Commander," he answered dryly, seating himself.

"Agreed," T'Pol permitted herself a tiny smile.

"I have a proposition for you," he told her, as the waitress brought him a cup and filled hers.

T'Pol waited, taking a sip of the fresh tea.

"With this new charter, Vulcan has several embassies being built on new worlds. There is a need for people who have," he paused for a sip, looking directly at her, "experience with other cultures."

"My experience is mainly with humans," she pointed out. "Have you plans to retire soon?"

"Unfortunately, no, the position of Ambassador to Earth remains filled," he said dryly, "however there are other positions that might be of interest to you, given your acquaintances."

"My acquaintances," she repeated, trying to gage what Soval knew of her recent whereabouts.

He nodded. "For example, there is a need to fill the new embassy on Andoria."

Apparently he knew quite a bit. T'Pol opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure what to say.

"You don't have to decide right now," Soval told her. "In fact, should you decline, I would be more than happy to transport you to Earth in time for your scheduled flight. My ship leaves in forty-eight hours." He drained his cup and rose. "You know where to contact me."

T'Pol walked back to Shran's house in a daze. She entered to find Trip seated cross-legged on the floor of the sitting room, surrounded by Talla and several of her Vulcan friends. Trip was wearing a sweater with a high neck and light brown hood covering the burn scars and his hair. The shadows the hood cast on his face made him look almost Vulcan.

He handed a small study padd to the boy next to Talla. "Here ya go Sam, should work fine now. Who's next?"

A girl about five years old with short cropped hair thrust a model space ship at him.

"What's wrong with it?" Trip asked, taking the toy.

"Won't fly," she told him dolefully.

"Ah," Trip nodded and flipped the ship over. He popped open the compartment that housed the toy's wires and began to tug on them experimentally.

T'Pol moved further into the room and cleared her throat. Trip looked up and gave her a wide smile. Turning back to the girl, he said "This might take me a little while, but I promise I'll have it for you tomorrow ok?"

The child nodded.

"Talla, why don't you take everyone to the garden and show them the flowers you and your mom planted?"

Talla looked at T'Pol and back at Trip, and gave him a wink. T'Pol folded her arms. Trip blushed. "Get outta here," he said, giving Talla a fake swat on the shoulder. She giggled and herded the kids out of the room.

"I see you've made some new friends," T'Pol said, eyeing the pile of broken toys next to Trip.

He shrugged. "Something to do."

"Let's go for a walk," she suggested.

He brightened. "To the fire caves?" he asked, taking her proffered hand to get to his feet.

"Can you make it that far?" she asked with a faint frown.

"No." He sighed. "Just around the block it is, then."

They started off down the street walking in companionable silence, then Trip paused to rest, leaning up against an outcropping of stone. Shading his eyes, he looked up at her. "Phlox tells me I can stop the treatments in another couple of weeks," he offered.

T'Pol nodded. "Will you return to Earth?" she asked.

He didn't answer, gazing instead out at the hills in the distance, heat shimmering and bending the lights above them.

"Are you not going to let the rest of your family or friends know that you are alive?" she persisted.

"Let's just say," he said slowly, "that Shran has convinced me there is a tactical advantage to being thought dead."

"Tactical advantage to whom?" she asked, folding her arms. "What plans exactly does Shran have for you, as a dead man?"

"Not Shran," he shook his head.

"Then who?"

He gave her a pleading look. She returned his gaze evenly, waiting for his answer.

"Apparently there's a need for people of my… talents," he said, scratching a line in the sand with the toe of his boot, "As this new coalition starts to assert authority, show people who's in charge so to speak. Being able to move around without being recognized is considered a plus."

"Espionage," she said flatly.

"More like…covert operations."

"You are an engineer."

"An engineer without a ship." The line in the sand was deepening to a furrow. "No ship could ever really replace Enterprise. Besides," he smiled tentatively. "I'm pretty good at fixing things. Or unfixing them, as the case may be."

"Granted." T'Pol unfolded her arms and studied the wall Trip was leaning against. 'Would this.. Organization have anything to do with Ambassador Soval?"

Trip's foot jerked and kicked the furrow, scattering sand back across the road. "What?"

"He approached me today with a job offer. He seemed to know quite a bit about my present accommodations."

"That conniving son of a bitch." Trip swore. "What'd he offer you?"

"Ambassadorship to Andoria."

"Andoria," he repeated, nodding slowly, "You might find that a bit chilly."

"Undoubtedly."

"Friends in high places on a world such as that," he mused, "you gonna take it?"

"I'm considering it."

"No more Starfleet?"

"As you said," she told him softly," Enterprise is not easily replaced."

Two weeks later T'Pol stood near the entrance to the house, bag packed and slung over her shoulder as she frowned at her chronometer. Her transport to Andoria was leaving at precisely 1800 hours. Soval had agreed to provide passage for Jhamel and Talla on the same ship, but Jhamel was having a hard time getting her daughter packed.

After pronouncing Trip no longer in need of medical care, Phlox had left the day before, ostensibly for Denobula, but T'Pol was sure it wouldn't be long before she saw the doctor again.

"Is it permitted for a dead guy to kiss an Ambassador?" Trip slouched against the door frame. His tanned face attested to his daily increasing strength. The day before they'd finally made it to the fire caves.

T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "I doubt Ambassador Soval would be appreciative of such a gesture."

Trip laughed. "You've still got some of my bad habits," he told her shaking his head.

She held out her hand to him. His laughter stilled. He matched her gaze and took her hand. She touched her fingertips to his, caressing them lightly in the Vulcan style. Trip shivered, his eyes widening. "Wow," he murmured. "I always wondered why you people did that."

Still touching her hand, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently against hers.

"They're kissing!" The cry from the doorway was followed by the sound of clapping. They broke apart to see Talla jumping up and down in the doorway, Shran smirking behind her.

"Aren't you supposed to be packing?" Trip asked, making a face at her.

"Finished!" Talla crowed. She danced over to them and flung her arms around Trip's legs. She looked up at him, her little face suddenly serious. "I'll miss you, Trip. Come with us."

He ruffled her hair and met T'Pol's eyes over her white head. "I'll see you again soon enough," he said. "I promise."

"Soon," T'Pol repeated, taking the child's hand and tugging her gently away from Trip. She stepped back, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

Jhamel joined her and took her daughter's hand. Shran gave her the bags and kissed her, then nodded to T'Pol.

"Keep an eye on him," T'Pol whispered.

"Always do," the Andorian whispered back.

As they boarded the shuttle to the spaceport, T'Pol looked out the window at the Andorian and Human standing in the doorway together. As he met her gaze for the last time, Trip winked.

She shifted her weight on the shuttle seat, looking ahead as the space port loomed. Something pricked her in the leg. She brushed her hand against it, finding a hard plastic object sticking partway out of her pocket. Pulling it out, she found Trip's Frankenstein action figure grimacing up at her.

She smiled.

**Epilogue**

Deanna Riker tapped lightly at the door of the captain's ready room and entered without waiting for invitation. Captain William Riker looked up from his desk and scowled at her. "I could have been in the middle of something important," he groused.

"We're docked at a starbase," she reminded him cheerfully, perching on the edge of his desk. "You shouldn't even be on the ship. You gave everyone else shore leave. Are you afraid the Titan will disappear if you leave her for two minutes?"

Riker cleared his throat. "So what are you still doing here then?"

"Wouldn't be right to go gallivanting all over a starbase without my husband, now would it?" Deanna brushed an imaginary spec off his uniform. "So I've been doing some reading."

"Oh? Anything interesting?" Riker leaned back in his chair, relieved to have to conversation turned from him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." She arched her eyebrows. "Would you like to hear about it?"

Riker folded his arms and waited with a smile.

"The Federation recently made public record some files from the late twenty second century."

He nodded. "Espionage stuff isn't it."

"Covert operations," she corrected primly. "And it's absolutely fascinating. I've been reading about a small unit that formed just months after the first Coalition Charter was signed. Run by a joint group of Vulcans and Andorians of all combinations. They were made up of several different species and continued working against the Coalition's enemies until well after it became the Federation."

"Sounds like it would make a good holodeck program," Riker said. "Cloak and Dagger the old fashioned way."

"Speaking of the holodeck," Deanna said, "that's the most fascinating bit. Remember that old holodeck program you used a couple times, with the Enterprise NX-10?"

He nodded.

"Well, I've found references in these documents to two agents in the late 2170's – an Andorian named Shran and a human named… Trip."

"Really?" Riker's eyes widened. "Coincidence?"

Deanna sighed. "I guess we'll never know."

The End


End file.
